


Egg Shell Fragments

by CaliginousCandy



Series: The Carrier [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Cannibalism, Implied Mpreg, Medical Inaccuracies, Nightmares, Stockholm Syndrome, possibly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-04-23 03:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliginousCandy/pseuds/CaliginousCandy
Summary: Dr. Leslie Thompkins takes the samples of the recently recovered Tim to her main clinic.





	1. Leslie's Labor (Lament)

**Author's Note:**

> Cool cool cool. a short thing for anyone who remembers this.
> 
> **By the way,** if anyone would like something or has an idea for something, please let me know. I am here to serve, after all.

Dr. Leslie Thompkins takes the samples of the recently recovered Tim to her main clinic. They're labeled John Doe at Bruce’s request. Leslie couldn't look at him anymore let alone work in that God damned hole in the ground. The way he spoke, how ready he was to beg her from the floor, the sight of what was supposed to be a fully grown adult secured to the gurney looking like the photographs of famine victims. 

And how her old friend couldn’t restrain the tremors in his hands as he helped her set up all the IVs and monitors. Stony-faced and professional as they both are, distress was clear in Alfred’s anguished eyes.

She sets the x-rays up and turns the display light on while the tubes of blood she had set aside separate in the centrifuge. The images of the fractured pelvis tell the same story as back in the cave. It looks like something large was forced out from inside. Leslie feels her stomach twist painfully. The first scenario she thinks of is unheard of in biological human males. At least not naturally. 

It is also evident that the fracture went untreated for a minimum of a four to five days, weeks at maximum, and had started to mend itself. Surgery could realign the pieces from their slight movement out of place but would require further separation of the bones and the severing of the remaining cartilage holding them together. Leslie will have to discuss this with the patient. 

Dr. Thompkins shakes her head. 

“How are you all still alive?” she says. She hopes they aren't watching her through the cameras right now. Yes, she knows about the cameras and the microphones Bruce planted in the clinic. She’s talked him out of putting any in the examination rooms. She still has integrity despite being the doctor for such an infamous group of vigilantes. Leslie allows herself a moment to let the hot prickle of stress and the cold grip of sorrow to wash over her before she gets to work on the patient’s samples.

Tim’s-- John Doe’s blood shows elevated levels of what appears to be oxytocin. What it’s doing in his blood is anyone’s guess. Perhaps to facilitate in some kind of sick experimentation on inducing Stockholm Syndrome. At the same time, it points back to Leslie’s earlier thoughts. She suppresses a shudder and continues to analyze what she could extract from the blood samples.

Leslie didn't get the complete, detailed story about what had happened. From where she stood, it seemed extreme forms of torture and starvation were involved. The sight was bad enough to bring up the old thoughts of stopping the entire Batman operation once and for all. 

The guilt of letting it go on for so long and watching all the young men and women Bruce has coerced into his war fall to harm and worse has been wearing her down for so long. She’s done what she could with whoever would accept her help. 

Not for the first time, she wonders where he morals have gone. She laments having let Alfred talk her into aiding the silly crusade instead of making Bruce see a therapist. Old friend or not, they _both_ should have known better. None of this should have ever happened.

But it has and so Leslie will do whatever she can to help this boy recover.

(And maybe, she can convince him to step away from it all. If he ever recovers enough, which Leslie has no doubt that he can, he could go back to school. He could really do things to help people in the world without involving his fists like his father... 

...It’s nice to dream sometimes.)


	2. Tim's Turmoil (Torment)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone does their best to accommodate Tim, but he still has some problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter, new experiences. here we go
> 
> like my chapters? cute, huh? OwO

Tim has been staring at the ceiling all too-quiet-and-too-still night. Moonlight streams through the blinds he finally had the courage to ask Alfred, the human Alfred, to leave open. In the blue darkness, he can pretend his suitors will return with enough meat to feed all three of them. And Jay, his Jay, will wait until Dick’s back is turned to sneak him some of those starchy roots he found were edible to humans after some trial and error. 

Wetness falls down the side of his face and into his ear. It’s unpleasant, but it also reminds him of his baby’s experimentally probing tongue in the evenings. So young and still discovering all her world had to offer, Steph was a fresh break from what had become Tim’s new monotonous norm.

Baby Steph…

Tim’s knuckles ache when he tightens his grip on the fistfuls of soft and fluffy comforter he hasn’t let go of once. This isn’t working.

* * *

Tim does his best to stay as still as he can for Alfred, but habit has him wanting to turn his head sharply to scare the “bugs” off his head. The haircut is slow going. Tim just wants it to be over, the tense probing battery of tests he's been put through, the constant invasive vigil they have placed on him after he mentioned he couldn't sleep alone, the acute crushing weight of how much he misses that other world. All of it. 

“There we are, Master Tim. Now your bathing will be much easier,” says Alfred, putting his pair of scissors back into the black pouch he keeps around “just for such an occasion.”

“Hmm,” he hums and runs a hand back over his head. “Wow. My hair hasn't been this short since…” _Since my dad died_ , he doesn't say. Alfred must pick up on his discomfort immediately and orders him into the bathroom. 

“I have placed a shower chair in the stall, and handlebars have been installed for your convenience.” Good old Alfred. He always knows what to do. Tim smiles though it feels a tad stretched-out and wan on his face. 

“Thank you, Alfred. I can do this part by myself.” Tim is kind of scared to feel hot water on his skin again, especially after what happened after he woke up dressed in some of his old pajamas. After he tore them off his body, convinced that he was covered in all manner of small, crawling things, he recognized the old pants as being part of a set he lost the top to years before he ever came to the Manor. Those pants were too big on his 10-year-old self but too tight after he became Robin. 

...No, he thinks he's put Alfred through too much recently. Although as mobile and astute as ever, Alfred’s face pinches tightly creating new lines carved deeply into the skin whenever he looks at Tim. 

“Do not hesitate to call should you require assistance. If not I, then one of your brothers will be available.” 

“Okay.” Tim isn't worried about getting from point A to B. His legs may be weak now but his arms are just fine. Even before the birth of his baby Steph, Tim had eschewed walking in favor of lying about his nest with his huge, loaded stomach. He would have to crawl to the edges if he wanted to eat having refused to let any of his cave-mates throw carcasses and whatever else into his sleeping space. Then Dick had made him carry Steph all the time, and he was worried about his pelvis and agitating what was most certainly a fracture-- He can go on. 

The point being this; it’s a piece of cake. And with a wheelchair? As if Tim needs help with all this leverage the wheelchair gives him. 

(Oh, cake. He had forgotten what that tasted like. It’s not even that he was a huge fan of cake or sweets in general to begin with. It’s more about having these things accessible to him after he was certain he was staying on that other Earth forever. Or as long as it took Steph to grow. Yeah, that.) 

Despite his words of departure, Alfred hovers a bit until after Tim hauls himself onto the plastic shower chair from the wheelchair Bruce had hesitated to give him. Dick, human Dick, had been hard-pressed to allow Tim some freedoms even if his condition is still a matter of debate. 

…Tim is still not sure how he can even begin to make it up to Dick for what happened to his hand.

* * *

It seemed every last member of the family was on the “Watch Tim Sleep” rotation. Well, except for Barbara, but she _did_ visit him to drop off a computer since the one he had on his person when he first got to the other Earth (forever ago) was completely destroyed within a few days of his being there.

“You’ll need this if you don’t want to go crazy in bed,” she had said wryly. Then she rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “And I guess you can write up a report for Batman if you really want to.”

Tim almost couldn’t contain his enthusiasm to the point where he nearly missed the tightening of Barbara’s jaw and slight narrowing of her eyes. Then he realized he hadn’t been saying words, just making some noise. He had cleared his throat, ignoring the burning on his cheeks, and thanked Barbara for her present.  
It was so embarrassing. Being back on his original Earth was like riding a bike again after years of driving. He could definitely still remember all the unconscious cues between people during conversation, but he also retained a lot of what he had to learn to survive on the other Earth. Sometimes he forgets bikes don’t have side-view mirrors.

Tim remembers learning how to express approval and positive feelings in that cave with the other Alfred. The only thing that saved him was the other Dick watching closely nearby before Tim got it right.

Dick-- He-- His--

After Kate’s shift in which she told him stories of her military endeavors in exchange for some of Tim’s own stories (Not a very happy way to pass the time but it did its job, and Tim felt closer to his Aunt than he ever had before), Jason steps heavily up the stairs and down the hall. His lips press together in a grim line when he passes the threshold into Tim’s room. 

“You look like shit, kid,” he finally says and sits in the chair Dick had dragged over after the first shift. 

The human Jason is not someone Tim prepared himself to face. He had thought a lot about what he would say to Steph (because there was no way Dick would have kept his mouth shut about what had happened in the cave right after Tim was brought back. She _has_ to know), what he would be willing to talk over Bruce about his time in the other Earth (and what Bruce probably, most likely, definitely, already knows.), and what the hell to tell Damian after Tim writes his report on the incident (It’s gonna be a long one). 

But the human Jason… Or maybe just “Jason” now. 

Jason makes himself comfortable in his chair, shifting around until his legs are crossed and his right elbow uses the arm of the chair as a foundation to rest his head on. It’s disturbingly casual. When Jason clears his throat,Tim realizes he's been staring silently for too long. 

“Yeah, uh.” Tim wasn’t prepared. He fidgets.

Jason looks at him and huffs a laugh. His face relaxes from the tense set it was in before. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small paperback.

“Well, you should get some sleep. Kate told me you were talking to her the whole time. You gotta be tired.” Jason says. He looks wide awake, and the sun is a dusty line projecting itself onto the floor from the slit in curtains Tim insisted on having. Tim’s been sleeping too long lately, but he felt himself lagging during his conversation with Kate. It’s late for him.

Tim nods and lies back into his pillows. 

They’re too soft.

* * *

Sections of the cave’s walls glisten in the pale light of the moon having just been brushed with the blood of recent prey. That light pokes at Tim’s eyelids with bony fingers. It hurts. The blood smells sweet until it doesn’t.

Tim shouldn’t be asleep right now. He needs to wake up. 

There’s rustling and heavy breathing just beyond the light’s reach. Tim can see it even with his eyes closed; A hulking shadow in the darkness growls low and clicks fast.

All the air in Tim’s lungs gets pushed forcefully out of him when a disembodied claw slams into his chest. (“ _Hey, what’s--_ ”) It holds him down. Tim still can’t wake up.

The shadow says, “Timmy.”

“Dick?” Tim whispers in the dark. The claw finally recedes. (“ _Come on, kid._ ”)

“Why did you hurt me?” It says. It sounds like Dick. Hot, sour breath fans on Tim’s face, and he can open his eyes. 

It’s his suitor. He looks like a nightmare (“ _You’re just dreaming._ ”) with the thick, pink saliva dripping from his maw. His coat looks matted. He smells like rot. 

“Dickie?” Tim’s voice is so small in the face of the vast, black pit that is the cave.

“Why did you hurt me, Timmy?” Dick’s voice says again. Tim can’t say anything, like his mouth is held shut with the stickiest taffy; He can only shake his head. 

“Timmy.” It’s Dick. He opens his mouth and a torrent of flesh falls out making Tim shriek. He can’t look away from the long tube of flesh still twitching on the floor. (“Shit _, kid!_ ”)

Dick’s tongue becomes Dick’s egg, so close to where Tim lies. His suitor lets out a low groan as he starts to tip over onto his side. He lands with a meaty, squishy, bloody _thud_.

“No-!” Tim reaches out hopelessly. What could he possibly hope to--?

“It’s your turn, Timmy,” Dick says. He erupts from the egg. His hand is missing, but the other reaches for Tim. “Feed me.” (“ _Kid, wake_ up _!_ ”) Dick starts to drag him out of the nest.

“Oh, no. Dick, please!” Tim struggles against the hard bands holding his arms tightly to his sides. 

“I’m hungry.” Dick’s way is clear. He leans down, sniffs, and tears out a huge bite. (“ _Dude-_ Tim _!_ ”)

Tim wakes up.

* * *

“I know you’re busy at the clinic, Leslie. I’d just like--” Bruce pauses to hear what the doctor says. He looks up at Dick, who hasn’t moved since Kate came by to say goodbye. Her opinion on the matter with was not favorable. He has his head in his hands. At least his shoulders have stopped shaking.

“ _Bruce, you asked me to do the tests, and I’m doing them._ ” she says. She sounds tired. Dead-and-dry-bone tired. So is he. Bruce takes in a deep breath. “ _There are just too many foreign bodies in his system. Isolating them will take a few days._ ”

Bruce blows his air out slowly. _5, 6, 7, 8._ “...Alright.” 

“ _...Alright then._ ”

“Just. I’d like to analyze the foreign substances here.” Bruce is aware that he took the coward’s way out in asking Dr. Thompkins to process Tim’s samples. Seeing the x-rays hung next to the body on the gurney was almost too much for him. Seeing Tim’s samples and just seeing his blood drip down his abdomen as he screamed at them in anguish. Feeling the bones through the scored skin of his son as he fought fruitlessly in Bruce’s grip.

Leslie pauses again, “ _That’s fine. I doubt we’d be able to find any matching substances or organisms at the clinic._ ”

Dick finally sits up. His eyes are red and puffy. Bruce doesn’t comment. He looks away and nods even though Leslie can’t see him. “Thank you, doctor.”

“ _Of course, Bruce._ ”

Bruce begins to say his farewells when a piercing scream shatters the semblance of calm in the study. They both know where it is coming from. Dick is on his feet and out the door immediately.

“ _Bruce, what was that._ ” Dr. Thompkins is suddenly terse and tense just as Bruce is. He stands. Alfred passes by the door that Dick left ajar. His tread is faster than usual.

“I’ll call you back, Leslie.”

“ _Wait, was tha--_ ” Bruce all but drops his phone on his way around the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. Hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> ...I've been tired. :/

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something on my new computer but I didn't feel up for any of my hundred games so I finished this instead.
> 
> :/ i wanted to do a thing for jaytim week 2018 trope-fest. I had something exciting and weird (as is my modus of operation, haha) but i gave up cuz I ended up with something a little longer than I anticipated. I'll be posting a part of it in a little while. I think if I put something out into the inter-void and get something back, I'll get some more motivation for it.
> 
> also for this. let me know. Communication is the basis for healthy relationships, after all.


End file.
